


Elise and the Tyrant King

by Ambazaar



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambazaar/pseuds/Ambazaar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only months have past after the revolution to win the crown, and yet, Albion is beginning to realize the mistake they had made to get the young Prince, Alexander, to the thrown. Things are far worse than when the King Logan ruled. It might be too late for the people to survive, and for Elise, the hurts are just beginning. It seems she can't trust anyone anymore, and, unfortunately for her, the only friend she can abide in is the one man she once swore to hate for all eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elise and the Tyrant King

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one shot, but maybe if I get enough Kudos/Comments I can continue. All criticism is welcome! - Enjoy. ^.^

The few months that passed after the revolution were the hardest on the king; I could see it in his eyes. When I obliged him to speak to me he did not, not even in the nights we spent together, which were very few. The threat of this new war was taking its toll on all of us, especially Alexander. He spent hours alone in the war room, pacing, mumbling to himself. I could not bring myself to confront him while in this state, for fear of his health, and mine. He hardly slept, rarely still did he eat. On more than one occasion he went so far as to strike the food tray out of my hands when I presented it to him. On more than one occasion I fled from the room in tears, usually to disappear in the castle library or to my chambers (I'd gone to calling them my chambers instead of ours, since the nights when he did sleep were either spent in the castle treasury or the study). Walter was of little help.

The old soldier was slipping away from us; either they all knew deep down and refused to confront the matter or they trully had no idea. From the stories Walter, Ben, and my husband told us all upon their return from Aurora, it was clear to see the illness had never really left his aging body. Yes, Walter was aging, unnaturally. As the two of us walked through the gardens together on evenings the king was far too busy to mind either of us, I sensed an evil presence within him. His body was far too weak, even for a man his age, and his eyes, though dark they may have been before, were far darker than I once recalled them to be. Not a light shone in either of them, which caused me to fear for him, for not only was he Alexander's tutor and only father figure, but he was also mine. I feared that the day when we needed him most, the darkness would finally consume him.

Though nearly one-hundred and forty days were left to pass before this darkness would come upon us, Albion was much worse a place to live than ever it had been in the days of Logan's rule. I understood the sacrifices Alexander made to protect his people, though the people themselves were beginning to resent him. The librarian who ran the academy in Brightwall had long fled the castle walls after Alexander broke his promise to reopen its doors to the public. Instead, the academy was given entry to those only rich enough to afford it, which mostly consisted of the residence of Millfields. And Millfields, home to Bower Lake, once the center of all of Albion's beauty, was now left to the hands of mine workers. The waters were drained in a fit to collect its hidden treasures, which would all be offered to the treasury in expense for the war.

Far worse tales were told through the city. Orphans were forced from their home in the middle of Bowerstone Industrial to make room for the city’s very first and 'highly enjoyable' house of whores. Though the people seemed thrilled over this idea, the very thought made me sick. It was unbearable, to walk in the streets as the little ones curled against the harsh, cold brick of other buildings to seek refuge from indifferent passersby. I could hardly keep myself from exchanging glances with them. The pain, the obvious hate for the rest of the world, yet the longing for someone to come collect them from the streets to take care of them shone so brightly in their eyes, mine instantly filled with tears. It broke me, but I could not compare my agony to what those poor children were feeling.

“It pains me far more than anyone else, but I’m afraid there’s little that can be done, your Majesty.” said Page, the leader of the rebellion before Alexander had stepped in, after I confronted her about the matter of the children a few days after the trial. “If I could, I’d take them in myself, but as you can see…” she gestured around her and my eyes followed her movements. We were surrounded by the cold, dark walls of the Bowerstone Sewers and the intolerable stench of the city (the first time visiting this hideout location, I could hardly contain the contents of my stomach), “This is no place to raise children. It’s more likely to kill them faster than the streets.”

  
The disappointments were only beginning. Promise after promise was broken by the king, and his allies soon became fierce enemies far earlier than the time it had taken them to hate the former king of Albion. Taxes were raised, guard numbers lessened, crime bolted in velocity, the economy itself was seconds away from collapse. A question began to form in my mind, the question I knew every citizen of Albion found themselves asking frequently: “What have we done?”

Not much could be said for the king’s older brother. Logan had returned from Aurora, only to find the remains of his former kingdom on the edge of its own, private hell. Tears filled the eyes of the wondering encountered around the city. Looks of distraught and guilt pasted to him as he met their gazes, as if apologizing to him for taking away his throne. He spoke of this to Walter, but the two men were at a loss. What could they do? Nothing. Logan could only see this situation as his own penance, for how had Alexander felt those many years ago when their roles had been reversed, but could that really be? Was Alexander truly punishing Logan through the chastisement of his people? Was that the level of cruel this once great young man had lowered himself to? I could not believe so, but as the months passed, the doubt of my faith in Alexander only grew all the deeper.

Sympathy. Mercy. Loyalty. Alexander could no longer understand the meaning of these words. The people that he found himself walking past in the streets, if they so much as looked at him with hatred in their eyes, punishment would be brought upon them by the swiftest and most unforgiving hand. Neither the children dying in the streets nor the ones slaving away in Reaver’s factories caused any effect to his character. Occasionally Reaver would come to the factories to taunt and bully the working children, and rumors around the industry said the king sometimes joined in provoking them. The two of them had become a pair. When Reaver threatened or killed a citizen, Alex was at his side, encouraging the bastard the entire way, making it clear to the others watching what true punishment could offer if obedience was not obliged. Men and woman from the city often came to me with these stories, but more often than not I would whisk them away as only rumors. I could not believe such stories. Especially the one’s related to the new bordello. The people accused the king of trailing behind Reaver as the two of them entered the whore house together, spending countless hours inside. What was said that happened within those walls was always a different story. The idea…the accusation that my Alex was sleeping with other women (or men) right under my nose was not something I could easily believe. That is, until I discovered them.

It was late, almost morning, and I had spent most the late night in the kitchens helping to prepare Alexander’s meal before the trial that day. The magnificent smells filled the open corridors leading outside into the courtyard and the rest of the castle, attracting wondering noses into our area. Some watched us cook, others offered their assistance. The atmosphere of the room was brilliant. Smiles could be found all around; even a young boy who had been wondering the area was now standing outside the door playing a small instrument (it looked to be a type of flute), filling the air with a lovely, soft tune. Some of us danced as we worked. The girls who stood hovering over the barrels of water washing dishes sang along to the tune. The overall mood of the kitchen was far too pleasant for a time such as this, but we enjoyed the moment while it lasted. That morning was the first time the majority of us had so much as smiled in a long, long while.

The fun could not last, at least for me. My body became far too exhausted. Early dawn peeked from above the tops of the homes leading away from the castle into Bowerstone Market. I stood and watched it rise for a moment and then headed to the floor of my chambers, ready to flop myself on the soft cushions of my loving bed. The thought brought a small to my face. I walked up the stairs (though there were only a few, they seemed to go on for ages), and leaned into the door to open it.

I stopped.

On the other side of the door, I heard laughing. The first voice belonged to a man, Alex. I recognized it right away. Oh how long it had been since I last heard him laugh. I would have smiled, if not for the following sound: another, similar laugh. Another man. There was another voice, and another after, both these were woman. My body froze. The atmosphere around me seemed to freeze and I felt the thump of my heart hit hard against my chest far quicker than normal. My skin grew warm, my head heavy. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Then, the laughing ceased and there came a new sound. The sound of combined moans filled my ears. My jaw clamped shut in a fit to keep from screaming. Tears filled the corners of my eyes. Some greater force took hold of my hand as it lunged for the door knob. I stormed into the room and was instantly met with four sets of eyes. Alex lay in the middle of our bed while in the arms of two other woman and…Reaver! That damned scoundrel was in my bed, with my husband. I couldn’t speak. I had no words, only fits of tears and whimpers of pain. How could he?

“Oh, my dear, don’t look to distraught,” said the slimy bastard. He sat up, turning to me completely, all the while holding Alex’s hand to his chest. “It was bound to happen. I mean, look how well we’ve treated your darling husband. Don’t you think he deserves it? Don’t you think it was time you did your wifely duties, instead of having him lunge into the arms of another?” I wished for my pistol then more than anything. Hero or not, I would shoot that devil smirk off his arse face or die trying. And then I met eyes with Alex, ignoring what else Reaver could conjure from his disgusting, cruel mouth. For a moment, he only stared back at me, and then he gave me that sweet smile I would have once melted at the sight of seeing.

At his words, my heart sank. “Come join us, my love.” He pushed the other woman to the side, making enough room for me to come to him. My eyes grew wide in horror.

“What!?” I shouted in all my rage.

“Oh, what a lovely idea. It is most, enjoyable, my dear, I asure you.” Piped in Reaver. He patted the shining red sheets in between him and Alex as invitation.

I sucked in a fierce breath on the verge of sobbing right then and there. I looked either of them in the eye, anger boiling away my pain. “Go to Hell and rot.” I cursed them and stormed out of the room.

Where I was headed was unclear. Everything was unclear. I couldn’t feel my body moving, nor could I hear the sound of my sobs. The whole world grew numb. My pain came a new, more severe than before. I felt the loud thumping of my heart in my throat, making it hard to breathe. The blur of hot, itchy tears rendered me blind. I prayed that I would somehow fall into a dark abyss and die. I prayed for the darkness to come and take me at that very moment, to get it right over with. I prayed I could somehow reverse time to when Alexander had to choose to kill either me or those mob leaders years ago at the order of Logan. I prayed he would choose me instead, to save myself from this pain. This pain…I could not bear the suffering.

I stopped running. My legs gave out under me and I found myself leaning against a large, marble wall for support. It seemed I had wondered into the lower level of the castle, possibly in the corridor leading to the library, but it was dark and I could not tell for sure. No one was around me. Not a sound could be heard. I was alone, so I wept. I sobbed and wailed and poured out my heart to the silence. I slowly felt my body sliding to the floor until my bottom met with the cold stone beneath me. It seemed I sat there for hours weeping. I held my head in my hands. The weight of this misery felt so heavy on my body.  
The silence taunted my agony, until I heard soft footsteps advancing toward me. They were hesitant at first, but they came all the same. I paid no attention. Any other time I might have regarded getting away from this passerby, but my body felt too weak to do so and my mind too tired to care. I merely hushed my tears for the time being until my visitor passed. I only hoped they would pass.

“Elise.”

At hearing my name, I foolishly turned to my corridor companion. At seeing who it was, I could not contain the new tears to come rushing down my face. I could only try and avoid his gaze. He came to kneel on the floor beside me, giving me a sympathetic look I could sense drilling through me. My eyes fell to the floor; tears slid from the corners of my eyes to the bridge of my nose, falling downward to the stone below, wetting it slightly. His hand brushed the hair out of my face, tucking it gently behind my ear. His touch was so gentle, something I would have never expected. He wiped away the tears from my cheek and continued to do so for the new ones that poured from my lashes.

“It would be foolish of me to ask if you were alright.” he observed, a small smile playing at his lips, but the realization of my obvious refusal to smile back wiped the hint of his clean away. Taking the hand from my face, he sighed. The tone of his voice changed from sympathetic to anger. “What has he done?” he asked.

I finally shared gazes with him. Logan’s dark eyes met mine in desperation to know what was wrong. His voice was stern, but his eyes shone nothing but concern. I sniffled. It was all that was left of my tears. I believed I had cried them dry and now there was nothing left but to wither away in this state of arid numbness. My voice, as I tried to speak, crackled and screeched. My throat felt dry and sour. “It’s all true.” I said. At the sound of the misery in my own voice, more tears automatically came to life.

Logan wiped these tears away. “What is true?”

“Everything the people have said. The rumors. I-I couldn’t believe them. I thought he still truly loved me. I thought . . . he couldn’t . . . I thought-” I stopped. I couldn’t speak through the river of tears that came with each word. My voice turned into a series of gasps for air and harsh sobs. I didn’t know why I was telling this to Logan of all people, but at the moment I would have cared for anyone to listen. And listen he did, but I did not expect him to take my shoulders in each of his hands and pull me into him. I did not expect for him to hold me to the warmth of his body, to run his hand through the mess that was my hair, stroking it ever so gently. My tears were soaking the shoulder of his soft, white shirt, but Logan did not seem to care at all. So, I chose to not care either. I chose not to care about what Alexander had done. I chose not to care that I was now wrapped in the arms of his brother, the former king of Albion, a man I had grown to hate. Most of all, I chose not to care that Logan was caressing my hair or whispering to me that everything would be okay, but I believed him.


End file.
